


Silk & Lace

by Moth1988



Category: Sam & Max (Comics)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Awkward Boners, Bottom Sam, Communication, Creampie, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Dresses, Flirting, Lace Panties, Late Night Conversations, Long-Term Relationship(s), Lube, M/M, Makeup, Neck Kissing, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Quickies, Self Confidence Issues, Sloppy Makeouts, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:55:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29685006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moth1988/pseuds/Moth1988
Summary: When Max has to dress up for a case, Sam enjoys it far more than expected.
Relationships: Max/Sam (Sam & Max)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 94





	Silk & Lace

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoy the dynamic switch I tried to explore in this one! 
> 
> Thank you all for reading once again, and although it's not related; I wanted to apologise because I recently accidentally deleted one of your guys' comments on a recent work of mine! I didn't catch the name, but I am so, so sorry that was not at all intentional and thank you so much for commenting! 
> 
> Thank you guys for reading again, and I hope you enjoy!

It was Sam's idea, and he stands by it. Can't say he hates the whole getup or anything, hard to say that when Sam's looking at him like Max is a four course meal and he ain't eaten in weeks. "Darlin', ya look _stunnin_ '."

* * *

It ain't like him to be so... nervous.

Though maybe ' _nervous_ ' ain't the right word, the word he's looking for here moreso fits along the line of ' _uncertain_ '.

Though, really, he ain't anything even close to the type to be so tense, but Sam can't see that, and he's grateful for it.

"You what?" He chokes out over the phone, more like a statement than a question as his partner nears their office.

"Well, it's simple, Max; the commissioner thinks it'd be a smart move to pull in a case as flimsy as this one. Y'know I couldn't pull off somethin' like that. Don't have the hips for it, so it's up to you."

He finds himself laughing, phone held in hand as he dangles his legs off of Sam's desk and casually watches the window for any sign of his return. He certainly ain't hearing the dull hum of the DeSoto's old engine yet, though, so guy must still be a couple of miles out.

The meetings with the commissioner never lasted too long, and he'd rather die than tag along and listen to an hour or so of beauratic nonsense. So, he'd opted to sit this one out, like he usually did, all too suspicious when he heard the phone ring. At this time of day? So close to the evening that he could practically smell the dinner special at Stinky's from here? Something about it was fishy, and he wasn't too sure it was just the dank, malodorous food.

"Sure, Sam, but a _dress_?" He stresses, fiddling with the telephone's wiley cable and watching as the street lights start to flicker on outside. "I think the guy just wants t' see me dressed up, frankly. That was he into?" He jokes, but he's hardly even met the guy. The only thing he knows of him is the spiraled signature on their paychecks, name spelled out somehow both neat and unreadable.

"The commissioner ain't like that, Max," He hears the crackling laugh of his partner over the line. "Look; I ain't gonna make you do anythin' you're uncomfortable with, but it's got a hell of a chance of speeding things up. Gettin' in the place is gonna be the hard part, but there's rumors he's got a soft spot for pretty gals. I don't know of anyone else who could get us in."

He giggles, twirling the cable around his finger. "Awhh, you think I'm _pretty_ , Sam? How sweet." His voice drips with honeysweet mock, and he can practically hear him facepalming over the phone.

"Hush, bonehead." He doesn't deny it. "Anyway, guys practically the pinhead of this whole... 'underground gambling' nonsense, I dunno. It'll get us in the door, that's all I know. Think you're up for the job?"

He hesitates for a moment or two. He's never had any problem dressing up pretty for a case before, but the thought of some creep oggling him has got him uneasy. He ain't a _whore_ , afterall; ain't gonna shell himself out for some creep with a gambling addiction.

"There's a pretty big check in it if we can get the place 'cleaned out', so to speak."

Not _that_ uneasy

"Alright, deal." He cuts Sam off fast. "But, ya better not pick me out anything gaudy. If I'm gonna be dressin' up, I ain't half-assing it. Don't wanna look like some cheap hooker."

Another hoarse laugh crackles over the line. "Alright, deal. I'll stop by some place on the way home; you're a small ain't ya?"

He can't remember the last time he's been asked that; he's never been one for fashion. "Extra. Just make sure ya get somethin' tasteful."

He can practically hear the smile in his voice from here. "I think can do that, lil' buddy. Be home soon, pal, don't go burnin' the place down."

He hears the dull click of the receiver on the other end, and he hangs up the phone, watching the city and hoping he ain't going to regret what he just agreed to.

This better be one _hell_ of a check.

* * *

Handling the garment and turning it over in his paws, it certainly ain't the worst thing he's ever worn.

"Gee, Sam," He snickers, eyeing his partner. "Really went all out, didn't ya?"

Sam tugs on his tie, eyeing the floorboards in return and Max swears the guy goes red. "Well, like ya said; ain't gonna half-ass it."

The guy they're going after ain't the cheap type, afterall, he supposes. Gotta look his best if they want in the place, some shoddy club downtown, reeking so bad of alcohol he can practically taste it from across town. Definitely ain't _his_ kinda place, but he ain't one to judge.

The thing's soft, some kind of off-white, cream-colored silky material that he rolls in between his fingers. There ain't a lot there, frankly, but Sam hit the target with ' _tasteful_ '. The material's thin, smooth as he peers at the ribbon-thin straps on either side. It's simple, and he thinks that Sam knows him all-too well, the most complex thing about it being the pale lace along the hem, just paler than the rest of it. The color reminds him of coffee, the kind he drinks that Sam hates; so much cream and sugar that the guy would spit it out if given the chance. It's enough to hide the bitter taste, one that Max has never had an affinity for, so sickly sweet that one could hardly tell it was coffee at all. Just how he liked it.

"Oh, _doll_ ," He giggles. "You shouldn't have."

His partner almost looks relieved. "You like it?"

Poor guy must've been awfully nervous in a shop like that one; never did much have the taste for theatrics that Max did. Even if he ain't one for fashion, that doesn't mean he's not going to do his damn best to look pretty. "Heh, 's _perfect_."

"Good, because you're not gonna like this one."

Before he can ask what the hell that means, Sam's pulling something out of his pocket. It's this small black bag, some logo written on it that he doesn't recognize. "What?"

He sets the thing on the desk, rifling through it and pulling out a couple of black tubes, and it's something vaguely familiar in the back of his mind, but not quite enough to know what it is. He's got a feeling it's not good, though, not with that sheepish, near hesitant look on Sam's face. "We've gotta make this believable," Sam mumbles, unscrewing the cap off one of the containers.

"You are kiddin' me." He eyes the mascara, narrowing his eyes at it. "You're gonna put _that_ on my face?"

"A lil' makeup never hurt anyone, Max."

He eyes his hand. "It's gonna hurt _you_ when I bite your hand off. It's gonna look _stupid_ , Sam. Ya don't think this is a bit over kill?" Before Sam can say anything, he's glaring at other shorter, squat tube. "Is that _lipstick_?"

"Listen, pal, I ain't doin' this for the fun of it." Somehow, Max doubts the guy's not getting some sort of satisfaction in this. He'd find it kind of funny, too, if he didn't get the short end of the stick.

He groans, climbing ontop of the desk to level with his six-foot tall partner and still finding him looming over. " _Fiiiine_ , but make it quick. We goin' out tonight?"

His partner nods, fiddling with the small containers and deciding on the mascara first. "Once the sun's all the way down. Alright, uh," He mutters, kneeling infront of the desk, eye to eye. "We don't got long, but I'll do my best, here."

"You ever do this before?"

Another rough laugh. "I had sisters, y'know. More experience than _you_ have. Just hold still."

Sam cradles his jaw with his hand, firm enough to keep him moving but not enough that he couldn't jerk away if he wanted to. With a blooming warmth of seedy embarassment in his stomach, he finds that he really _doesn't_ want to.

The stuff's dark, black as ink with a horribly pointy applicator. He always had an affinity sharp and pointy things, but definitely not when it's this close to his eye.

He resists the urge to flinch back when it touches him, coating his eyelashes in the thick stuff and damn near poking his eye out. He stays as still as he can, practically clawing at the desk to keep himself from fidgeting under the uncomfortable, ticklish sensation.

Once Sam's done with the whole clumsy application, he's got to resist the instinct to rub his eyes of the stuff. "I can't believe I agreed to this..." He huffs, watching as the guy reaches for another tube. "This better be one hell of a check, Sam."

His partner laughs. "I know, lil' pal. Almost done, here." He sets the cap to the side, eyeing the cherry-red, pinkish lipstick. "Alright, now this is the tricky part..."

He grits his teeth and bares it, eyeing the rose-tinted stick and hoping to god it'll be easy to get out of his fur later.

The stuff smells like crayons, somehow, with this hint of baby powder that's got him wrinkling his nose at it. "That's reassuring." He grumbles, and Sam carefully cradles his jaw again, kneeling infront of him to apply the stuff.

He can't say why, exactly, but his stomach's doing flips. Like he's nervous, although he can't find a good reason to be, holding his breath when Sam's thumb runs across his bottom lip to hold him in place. Feels like his heart's gonna give out, beating far faster than he'd like.

Maybe it's just the guy hovering so close, eyes narrowed in concentration, the same look on his face when he's trying to think of what to say to a suspect. He focuses on his eyes, and not the feeling of the stuff smearing on his lips. His thumb leaves his lips, rubbing at the fur on his cheek with soft strokes. He almost shivers at it, letting out a breath and cringing at the dull, rumbling purr that vibrates from his chest.

_That's_ embarassing...

He blames it on nerves, letting his eyes flutter shut so Sam can finish the job. If Sam notices, he doesn't say anything, paw holding his jaw as he swipes the final coat of the pink stuff on his bottom lip, letting out a heaving sigh as he stands back up, finished as well as he can be.

"Alright, I think that should be good. Wanna go take a peak? And uh," He picks up the discarded silk from besides him, handing it over. "Put this on while you're at it."

He groans, face already feeling far too heavy. "I'm gonna look stupid."

He gets a small, empathic peck ontop of his head. "Hush, Max. You'll look adorable."

With another dramatic groan, he's hopping off the desk and dragging himself to the bathroom. "Okay, _fine_ , but if ya laugh I have every right to kill you."

He shuts the door behind him, leaning his back up against it and rolling the fabric over in his hands.

How in the _hell_ is he even supposed to get this thing on?

Pushing down his pride and further bruising his fragile ego, he steps into the thin fabric, pulling the straps over his shoulders and watching the bottom half of the thing rise to his mid-thighs.

So much for _modesty_.

Then he notices something fall out from the pile of silk, something small on the ground; same material, but far more lace. He picks it up. Sam hadn't mentioned whatever the hell this is, and after a moment and a half of studying it, he realizes why.

Good _lord_ , now he's just fucking with him, ain't he?

He tries not to look at the small pair of underwear when he pulls them on underneath the thing, shivering at the feeling of lace brushing against him.

It's a simple thing, there ain't much too it, but stepping infront of the mirror, he can't help but cringe.

There goes his marketable adorability.

Sam did a fine job, sure, but he can't help but think it's the furthest thing from ' _adorable_ '. He just looks... silly, to put it lightly.

He flattens down the front of it, running his paws over the smooth fabric and trying his damnedest to make it look any better.

Maybe he just ain't the type for dresses, but if it's good enough to fool the guy, then it's good enough for him.

It's just a couple of hours, then he can tear the damn thing off, shove it away, and never think about it again.

The thoughts just enough motivation for him to open the door, steeling himself with a deep breath and stepping into the room.

He can't bring himself to look Sam in the face when he steps out, fiddling nervously with his paws.

When a hush falls across the room, the bundle of nerves in his stomach only grows tighter.

What's he so nervous about, anyhow? It ain't like this whole shameful thing wasn't Sam's idea in the first place.

His gaze leaves the floorboards, glancing up at his partner with more than just a little bit of pink coloring his face, and unfortunately it's not all just the makeup. "Cmon, say _somethin_ ', Sam." He murmers, because the quiet is somehow worse than the ridicule.

" _Wow_ ," The detective lets out in a long drawl, eyeing him from head to toe and certainly not helping Max's case any. "Darlin', ya look _stunnin_ '."

He can't be serious.

"I mean it, Max." He says before he can get a word out. Sam always did have an uncanny ability to know what he was thinking before he could even have the time to show it on his face. "I mean, _seriously_ , I uh..." He grows almost timid, trailing off and murmering the last few words. "I knew you'd look _pretty_ , but you're breathtaking."

He ain't gonna clam up, he swears it, but compliments have never been his strong suit. "Now you're just messin' with me, Sam. You weren't gonna mention these?" He hikes the dress up, watching his partner go red and laughing as he tips his hat over his eyes to shield them from the display. Not like he hadn't picked them out himself, and it's not like he hasn't seen worse.

" _Jesus_ , lil' buddy..."

He giggles, flattening the dress back down. "C'mon, Sam. Ya see me naked every day, this really that different?"

Then his eyes drift downwards, and his question is answered with something a little bit more convincing than words. "Holy _shit_..." He murmers.

"Just bought 'em for the sake of _modesty_ , lil' pal. You don't want the guy tryin' t' look up your skirt, do ya?"

He's got a point, but his eyes ain't leaving the spot. "Sure, Sam."

His partner glances down at himself, rushing to grab a stray folder from the desk to cover his shame. It's cute, watching him fluster so bad. " _Shit_ , I'm sorry, I uh..." He stammers, and Max takes the chance to step in closer to the room.

"You think I look pretty, Sam?" He teases, syrupy-sweet dripping from his tone.

The poor guy nods, flustering and quiet. "Yeah."

He hops onto the desk, standing to look him in the eyes, grabbing hold of his face and turning his jaw to look at him. "Awh, how _sweet_."

He kisses him, hearing the guy make a soft sound against his lips, folder dropping from his hands to land on the ground below.

Max doesn't doubt him; knows he did it for the sake of the case, sure, but that doesn't mean he can't enjoy it a little bit.

Sam pulls away from him, eyebrows knitting as he swipes a thumb at the corner of his mouth, eyeing the pinkish blotch. "Your lipstick's gonna smear, pal." He reasons, like he's trying to find a good reason not to ravage him here and now.

"I don't give a _damn_ , Sammy." He grins at him, hand on his cheek to keep the guy from turning away from him. "It can be fixed later." He swings his arms around his neck, feet planted firm on the wood below them. "We've got time, don't we?"

Sam can't argue there, letting himself be pulled closer. "It doesn't freak ya out?"

He just smiles at him, hands fiddling with the guy's tie. "Nah, I think it's sweet that ya like seein' me all dressed up."

It's so sweet seeing him go red, lipstick smeared across his lips, hardly noticeable against the dark fur. "Ya know that's not why I did this."

He can't help but snicker. "Sure, love, but I think it's sweet seein' ya all flustered because of it."

He seems to get it, finally looking less ashamed of himself, less so like a scolded pup when he smiles back at him. He relaxes a bit under his hands, and he sighs. "You look so pretty."

It's like he can't find a better word for it; ' _pretty_ ', like he's one of those stars on the big screen. It makes him all soft inside, like he's melting like tar in the sun from just being so close to him. Feels like heaven, eye to eye as he watches the poor guy come undone when his paws wander to hold his shoulders, trailing down him and watching him shiver. "So do you." He cuts off the next words from him, no doubt hard on himself like he always tends to be. Max tries to pry that out of him, but old habits die hard. " _Always_ , Sammy. Prettiest guy I know, you know that."

He doesn't say a word, just kisses him again.

His tongue presses against him, tasting him and the bitterness of the coffee he had meer hours before. Must've been a hard night with the commissioner, swears he tastes rum on his tongue, but Sam's never been a hard drinker and the taste just barely lingers. It's hard not to be soft with him, hands holding his cheeks again and fingertips running through the coarse fur. "Ah, love, _please_." Sam murmers against his lips, and Max's legs are shaky, trying to keep his knees from buckling underneath him at the strain.

"Of course, Sam, just play nice for me." He murmers, pressing his forehead against his and grinning wide when he nods against it. "Good boy, heh, can ya sit down?"

Sam sits next to him on the desk, no less flustered when Max sits on his lap, hearing the poor guy whine under his breath, thighs easing themselves apart as he strains against his trousers.

"Tough night, huh?" He asks softly, arms encircling around his neck again and pressing earnestly against him. Sweet guy, so gentle as he kisses his neck and murmers against it.

"Yeah, always tough whenever I'm without ya."

He can't help himself when he turns pink, trying to steady his voice when Sam nuzzles against his neck, resting there and sighing, tired when he finally relaxes. "You always say that, Sam. Such a softie, but I love that about ya. Sweetest guy I know."

He can hear him laugh, and the lagomorph rubs at his back. "Just relax for a lil', alright?"

He nods in agreement, letting Max pull off his coat and throw it to the side, helping him out by unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it off his shoulders, tie going along with it.

"You think I'm pretty?" He asks again, so soft it's almost a whisper. Another nod, and soft paws hold gently at his hips. "Tell me how."

Sam takes in a deep, shaky breath. "Hard t' say _now_ , but I've never seen a guy look so pretty in a dress. My sweet lil' buddy, always so _stunnin_ ' even in nothing at all. Makes me stupid, sometimes, like I can't find a good word t' say it."

He gets that, feeling his middle tighten as he presses up against him again and hears him suck in a sharp breath.

His hands are clumsy when he unbuckles Sam's belt, unzipping his fly and pulling him out. As nice as it is to see the poor guy tremble, it's even more satisfying to see it firsthand.

Gosh, the guy's a _sight_.

"What do ya want, Sammy?" He asks him softly, damp lace against his partner, eyes never leaving his, lidded and waiting.

"I want, uh," He starts to stammer, holding his hips and pulling him in closer, rutting up against the thinness separating the both of them. "I want _you_."

A hand leaves his hip, up underneath his dress and the smooth silk as he trails up his thigh, making him shiver. His hands are so warm, the room cool as he shudders and feels him go further. His hand rests on the inside of his thigh, thumb brushing against the lace and the stiffness underneath.

He's aching for it, really is as he tries his damn best to keep himself composed. He ain't giving in so easily, as horribly tempting as it is.

"W-what do ya want me t' do for you?" He breaths out, almost choking on it, letting his legs pull apart.

"You got any lube?"

He almost laughs at the bluntness, pure confidence he obtains when pushed past his point. "Of course, Sam."

Sam's free hand rests on his lower back, thumbing over the fabric and keeping him upright when he pulls out a small bottle from a desk drawer. It's a tiny thing, the fancy kind of stuff that comes in a little glass bottle, cold in his hands.

Sam's hand goes to leave him, but he squeezes his thighs around it, keeping it in place. "Don't move, I've got this." He says, unscrewing the cap and pouring a generous amount onto his paws, no hesitation when he strokes him, coating him in the thick stuff. He can feel slight, rarely used claws digging into the fabric of the dress, pointed into his hips. He loves the sting of it, halfway hoping it'll leave a mark when the guy whimpers and holds him tighter. "There we go, _good_." He murmers, and he's aching so bad for him that he doesn't stand a chance at lasting long enough to prep himself. He doesn't need to, not right now, not when he can feel the heat of his hand so close to him.

"Just relax, Sam." He eases him into it, leaning up far enough to kiss him sweetly, and so soft that he's aching for more. He lets his partner hook his thumbs under the thin elastic sides of the underwear, pulling them down to his thighs and going to hold his hips again, letting Max lower himself onto him.

The sting of it's deep, but he's never been one to shy away from pain, and it only intensifying the tightening of his stomach, gasping in deep when he lowers himself down further. "Just go slow, Max," He murmers into his ear, nuzzling at his jaw. "Don't have t' take it all."

It makes him feel all fuzzy inside, how worried he is even when he's lowering himself on his dick. He could grab him, pull him down all the way and Max wouldn't even have a thought of complaining. "I'm _fine_ , Sam, stop worryin' so much." He finally lowers himself down to the hilt, sitting there until the ache somewhat abates.

It feels nice, and he can't think of a better word for it. "Can't help it, you're _tiny_ , doll." Guy knows he'd kill him any other time he said so, but somehow with him inside, he finds it near endearing. Full and so warm that he's sweating from it, breath coming out only in small gasps when he kisses him again.

He keeps his lips pressed hard against Sam's when he pulls himself up, halfway before pushing down once again.

He can feel his eyes water, stray tears slipping down his cheeks and wetting his fur. He can practically feel the mascara faltering, running down his fur from the slightest sting. He blames it on the makeup, because the stuff had made his eyes water from the very start, but it just feels so good that it's hard not to respond to it like that.

The poor guy whines against his lips, keeping him tightly held by his hips, helping him as he does the same again.

He feels heavy with it, made lighter by strong hands lifting him up with such ease it's a wonder how he manages it. Max has always been on the lighter side, sure, but it still amazes him everytime, though the thought of saying so alone has him red in the face.

He can hear Sam grunt, almost growl so close to his ear that it makes him shiver. "This good?" Max nearly whispers it, somehow the thought of even asking and making sure he's doing good flustering him more than he'd care to admit.

"Y-yeah, yeah, _so_ good. You're doin' great." He gasps out. "I ain't hurtin' you, am I? Not too rough?"

"Oh, _Sam_ ," He purrs. "You could never be too rough, could slap me in th' face and I'd thank ya for it."

Another rough laugh, hoarse in the guy's throat when he lowers himself down again. "Not gonna do that, pal, but good t' know." He chuckles, gasping out loud when he lowers down particularly fast, gasping into his ear.

It ain't hard to tell he's close, and Max ain't going to deny he's the same. He leans forward, kissing and nipping as Sam's neck to leave spots underneath the dark fur. The lipstick leaves these marks, the kind he'd kill the guy for coming home with any other time of the night.

But Sam never would, never even had the wandering eyes his mother always warned him of. She never had an issue with the guy, but men were another thing. Said he oughta find someone nice, someone kind, and he supposes now, held tight and close to him, that he has.

"Ah, Sam," He mutters into his ear. "D-Don't pull out, you'll make a mess."

And he doesn't, pushes in so deep that he's seeing stars. He tightens around him, tipped over his peak by a low growl in his ear, stomach tight and hot when he cums inside. It's so warm he feels like it could burn him, and when Sam hears him calling his name, he pulls himself out slow. Doesn't doubt the whole city can hear them both, and he can't say he gives a damn.

His vision goes spotty, clinging on tight to him when he cums, curses and utterances of Sam's name spilling out from him like the warmth dripping down his thighs.

" _Fuck_." His partner mutters, and it has him laughing all over again.

"Language, Sam! Don't be dirty." He teases, pulling away to look at that pretty, blushing face of his.

He knows he looks a mess; mascara running down his cheeks in inky tears, red and pink smeared across the corners of his lips.

"Heh, ya look even _prettier_ , doll," He says, like he shows it on his face. A soft hand rests on his cheek, thumbing at the pale fur. "Your cheeks are all pink, 's adorable."

When the afterglow, and the soft silence between them there following abates, he's left eyeing the mess they've made and the thought of an important case still in the back of his mind. He hardly thought about it in the act, but now as the sky's dark and he can smell the scent of the city, mingling with the smell of sex, it dawns on him. " _Shiiiit_ ," He groans, pawing at his face.

"What's on your mind, doll?" He asks, innocent and gentle.

"The case, Sam." He watches the other's eyes go wide.

"Shit, uh," He looks down at the both of them, back to his makeup smeared face. "I'll go get the makeup wipes, you hop in the shower. It'll be fast, we'll grab some perfume on the way. Cover it up, they'll never have a clue."

He smiles at him, patting his handsome face because the guy always knew what to do. "Sure, Sam. Go get changed, I'll be quick."

And he hops off the desk, legs wobbly and middle aching. It's a soft hurt, lingering in his middle. Hell, how's he gonna think about anything else later on? Nothing else besides the thought of Sam moaning in his ear is gonna be on his mind. _Focus_ definitely ain't something that's going to be a strength later on tonight, but he doesn't mind it. He's got his ways of prying into the perps mind and getting what he wants out of this, and now's no different.

When he hops into the shower, bitterly cold, scrubbing away the spunk stuck in his fur, he's already looking forward to the night ahead.

When the case is done with, and there's only one thing on his mind, the dress suddenly doesn't seem so dreadful anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, just wanted to let you guys know I'm still taking commissions, just dm me on Discord and we can talk! :) 💕💕
> 
> @mothh#7318
> 
> Thank you guys again for reading, and if you have anything in mind, just dm me so we can discuss! ❤️💕


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